


Dutiful

by Fyre



Series: The Protector of Wakanda [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6904261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a King's duty to see to the well-being of his guests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dutiful

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there are spoilers for Civil War. Just in case you haven't seen it yet and didn't guess from the fact T'Challa appears :) And joy of joys! My first fic in almost 6 months!

Captain Rogers was going to Ross’s prison alone, but not unarmed.

It was better that way, he and T’Challa both agreed. It would not be good for diplomacy if the King of Wakanda was seen breaking into an American maximum security fortress. Still, T’Challa made sure that the Captain had all the tools he would need to return from his mission.

There was one favour that the Captain had asked for himself: take care of my friend.

It went without saying.

The Winter Soldier - the man, Barnes - was still recovering from his encounter with Stark. 

He had lost his metal arm, but neither T’Challa nor Rogers had realized how deeply the false arm was rooted into his body. According to the physicians, the pain would have been as severe - if not worse - as the loss of his flesh and blood limb.

In their flight from Siberia, Barnes barely uttered a sound. Rogers spent much of the journey tending to Barnes. He seemed oblivious to his own injuries, brushing the blood from his battered features as if he was swatting away a troublesome fly. 

It was only once Barnes was resting that one of T’Challa’s own physicians managed to push Rogers onto the examination table. It transpired that the man had sustained a severe concussion, several broken bones and a litany of smaller injuries that were already healing.

Enhanced, T’Challa recalled. He made a note to ask Rogers if he was also immune to pain, or if he simply could tolerate it better than most. It was a question for a later date, when they had less to fear than the recriminations of the American and United Nations wishes.

According to all of T’Challa’s sources, Captain Steve Rogers was classified as AWOL, MIA, and a variety of other acronyms that suggested he would be in a great deal of trouble when he showed his face. The Winter Soldier was also on a wanted list. 

So far, no one seemed to have linked their disappearance from Siberia with the fact that T’Challa had brought Zemo in from the same place. The fact he had hunted the Soldier was probably the factor that comforted his American allies. No man who had been so murderous would consider offering asylum to the man he had hunted.

That loss of control, T’Challa mused, had been useful at least.

His coronation was another diversion. It gave him just cause to retreat back to his country without any questions being asked. After all, he had caught the guilty party. The Accords were in place. All was as it should be. The missing Captain and the Winter Soldier were no longer his concern.

His coronation was a grand affair, and as the rituals and speeches carried on over his head, he looked out over the people who were now his subjects, wondering if he was making the right decision. If the world found out that he was harbouring two wanted fugitives, he could only imagine the chaos that would follow.

It was the right thing to do. 

His father had always taught him to know himself and to know his actions. This action, it was the right thing to do, no matter the risk.

To their credit, Rogers and Barnes drew no attention. Barnes was recovering in the medical bay, and when he was not tending to his friend, Rogers was formulating plans to liberate his allies. It was a dangerous decision, but T’Challa could not fault him. Loyalty was a rare and valuable commodity. 

Rogers waited until Ross lowered his guard. He bided his time, watching over his friend, until false sightings of Captain America were reported in Asia. All eyes turned east, and that was when Rogers set out for the prison. 

It was a risky enterprise, but Rogers seemed confident as he departed.

T’Challa approached the medical bay.

The doors were heavy and secure, a specification requested by the patient himself, when he was conscious enough to notice his surroundings. Just in case, he said. Wouldn’t want to be a lousy house guest.

T’Challa typed in the code and pressed his palm to the sensor.

The doors slid aside, and he walked in, unsurprised to see the bed was vacant. Barnes was sitting on the floor by the windows that served as a wall, his good shoulder resting against the glass. He looked drawn and tired, but that was nothing unusual.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Barnes looked up at him. 

T’Challa folded his hands behind his back. It had become habit around the man, a gesture of trust, sheathing his claws as it were. “He will return. You do not need to worry.”

Barnes laughed quietly, turning his head back and resting his brow against the glass. “I know. He’s a stubborn jackass.”

T’Challa approached, sitting down on the chair close to the window. He settled back against the cushioned back. Barnes never used it. He seemed to prefer the floor. “I have only known him for a few weeks, but yes. This does seem to be the case.”

Barnes had his eyes closed, but he opened them to look up at T’Challa. “What’d I do to get an audience, your Highness?” It wasn’t said with disrespect, but there was a gentle, teasing note to his voice that surprised T’Challa. “I thought you would be kissing babies or whatever Kings do.”

T’Challa smiled crookedly. “Visiting the sick is another royal duty.”

Barnes snorted, leaning back into the glass. “Right. The royal touch.” He cracked open one eye again. “Trade embargoes? Or tax duties?”

T’Challa shook his head. “Worse. Suitors.”

This time, Barnes did laugh, then winced, shifting the damaged stump of his ruined arm. “So this isn’t a visit? This is you hiding out?”

T’Challa laced his fingers together in his lap and drew on the expression his mother had always described as kingly, even if he felt he must look like a pompous fool. “A King does not hide from his people. I am being hospitable to my guests.”

Barnes screwed up his face. “If it looks like a dog and barks like a dog, I’m pretty sure it’s a dog.”

“I beg your pardon?”

One side of Barnes’s mouth turned up. “Oh. Right. Cat. A cat hiding out because he doesn’t want to be petted by strangers.”

T’Challa stifled a chuckle. “You are being remarkably insolent.”

Barnes met his eyes with that faint half-smile. “For someone else who’s hiding, yeah.” He pressed his hand to the floor, struggling to rise.

T’Challa rose at once, offering his hand. Barnes eyed it warily, then caught hold of it with his own, and let T’Challa help him up. His skin was still too hot, but whether it was a fever or simply the enhanced chemistry of his body, T’Challa could not be sure. 

“You are healing well,” he offered, watching Barnes carefully. The man was physically unbalanced, staggering like a drunken man. The loss of a flesh limb would do that, but the loss of a limb made entirely of metal would alter his entire centre of gravity dramatically. 

Barnes shoved himself up onto the bed, leaving his legs dangling several inches above the floor. It made his solid form look smaller, more vulnerable and fragile. He did not seem like the same man T’Challa had fought only weeks earlier. 

“I’ve had worse,” he said.

T’Challa did not doubt it. He had read the files on the Winter Soldier in readiness to hunt him. When the situation had changed and Barnes became his guest, there was more reading to be done: he needed to know the man behind the soldier, the man that Rogers - the embodiment of American patriotism and loyalty - would forsake his country and his allies for. It was not a happy story.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked quietly.

Barnes tilted his head, looking up at him. “You mean apart from getting us out of Siberia, getting us medical treatment and hiding us from the rest of the world?”

T’Challa made a slight gesture with one hand. “That was… recompense.”

“Recompense?” Barnes’s eyebrows rose slightly. “For what?”

“I would have killed you.”

Barnes looked down at his hand, braced on his thigh, then looked back up with a crooked smile. “You tried.” He straightened his back, wincing, then curled his hand into a fist. “You know what I was. There are plenty of people who would have shaken your hand for it.”

“I saw you.” T’Challa drew up the chair that was most often occupied by Rogers, sitting down. “In the facility in Berlin, I saw you.”

“Saw…?”

“After you… escaped. We fought. Do you remember?”

Barnes was very good at keeping his mask up. If T’Challa had not been watching for it, he might not have noticed the flicker in Barnes’s eyes. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Then you will understand when I say that it was not you.” 

Barnes shook his head. “It was me. My hands. You got surveillance footage that shows you.”

“I know what I saw, Barnes.” T’Challa leaned forward, hands folded, his forearms resting on his knees. “I have fought many men. The man I fought on the rooftop was not the same man that I fought within that building. It was your body, yes, but a man’s mind is visible in the way he fights. When I fought the Soldier, it was not the man I see before me now.”

Barnes was rigid. “It’s still part of me.”

“I know.” T’Challa looked up at him. “And so, I ask again, is there anything I can do?”

Barnes’s face twisted as he struggled to school his emotions. His hand was a white-knuckled fist on his thigh, pressing hard against the pants he was wearing. “Get it out.” His voice was barely more than a breath, breaking. “Whatever they did. The words. The switch. The trigger. Whatever the hell they did to me.” His lips trembled and his eyes were too bright. “Can you do that?”

T’Challa leaned forward and covered Barnes’s hand with his own. He wasn’t surprised when Barnes flinched. “You have my word we will do all that we can.”

Barnes stared at him. “All that you can?”

“I can make no promises. Wakanda has made many scientific advances, but distortion of the mind is not something our people would choose to do.” T’Challa squeezed Barnes’s hand. “If we can find a way to undo what was done, we shall.”

Barnes turned his hand suddenly, and his grip on T’Challa’s hand was like a vice. “I’m a danger. You saw what happened in Berlin.” There was an urgent light in his eyes and he leaned down towards T’Challa. “I need to be safe. I can’t - he’s risked too much and I can’t be used against him again.”

T’Challa searched the man’s eyes. “What is it you want, Barnes?”

Barnes took an unsteady breath. “Steve’s going to kill me,” he said quietly. He closed his eyes, as if steeling himself, then looked back at T’Challa. “Until we know if I can be… fixed, I need to be kept safe. Somewhere I can’t be a liability or triggered to do damage.”

“You will be safe here.”

Barnes shook his head. “No offence, your Highness, but if they can get to me in a maximum security terrorist holding cell…” He released T’Challa’s hand to run his own hand over his eyes. He looked as if he had seldom been sleeping. No wonder, if he remembered all the crimes he had been forced to commit. “It just takes a few words. That’s all. I just need to be conscious and hear those words and I’m- well, you saw what it does to me.”

“Yes.”

Barnes’s voice was trembling. “Jesus, he’s going to kill me for asking.”

T’Challa could see the shape of Barnes’s request. “You do not wish to remain conscious, do you?”

Barnes laughed, sharp and brittle as obsidian. “Crazy, right? God knows how long in the ice, and I know I need to go back under.” 

His whole body was curling in on itself, and T’Challa could see at once how much he feared what he was capable of. No man would choose to be frozen alive, but he feared harming others far more. A good man, who put the safety of others far above himself.

He rose from the seat and laid his hands gently on Barnes’s shoulders. “If this will bring you some manner of comfort, I will see it done.”

Barnes bowed his head. He was shivering, and when his breath hitched, T’Challa knew the man was fighting back tears. Silently, he moved even closer to the bed, and lifted one hand to curl gently around the back of Barnes’s head. It took no pressure at all to draw Barnes forward. Barnes knocked his brow against the middle of T’Challa’s chest. He didn’t make a sound. He barely even seemed to be breathing, but he lifted his shaking hand and clutched at T’Challa’s wrist.

T’Challa let his hand rest at the base of Barnes’s skull, fingers lost in the man’s hair. “It will not be as it was with those who held you,” he murmured. “It will be painless. Like sleep.”

Barnes nodded without lifting his head. “Thank you.” His voice was cracking.

T’Challa gently moved his hand, almost stroking Barnes’s hair soothingly. “My father once told me that we can measure ourselves by how we treat others,” he murmured. “I do not think he imagined I would be turning a man into a… popsicle. Is that the word?”

The burst of surprised laughter from Barnes shattered the tension in the man’s body. He drew himself back from T’Challa, sitting up. His eyes were redder and brighter, but relief had swept several years from him. “Yeah. Popsicle is right.” He braced his hand on his thigh again and took a gulping breath. “Thank you,” he said, finally. 

“It is no problem.”

Barnes shook his head. “Not for that. For getting it. For not shouting me down.”

T’Challa nodded. He could see why other people might find the task repellent. “This is your choice, is it not? You have not been ordered to do this? Or threatened?”

“No. No threats. No orders.”

T’Challa patted his good shoulder. “Then, as a free man, it is your right to do this, as it is my right to offer any assistance you may require.” He stepped back from the bed. “Now, I fear I must leave you.”

“Right.” Barnes’s lips twitched again. “Suitors, yeah?”

T’Challa shrugged with a brief smile. “It is a burden, being a rich, handsome, eligible bachelor.”

“And King. Don’t forget King.”

“That,” T’Challa admitted, “is impossible.” He bowed his head slightly. “Rest well, Barnes. I will have my people keep you informed, regarding Captain Rogers.”

“Bucky.”

T’Challa paused. “I beg your pardon.”

Barnes smiled, a smaller smile, but somehow warmer and more genuine. “My name. I figure if we’re friends now, you should call me by my name.”

T’Challa gazed at him, then held out his hand. “T’Challa.”

Barnes - Bucky - smiled again as he shook T’Challa’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

T’Challa nodded. “And you.”

As he walked from the medical bay, he shook his head. 

It was strange, the way fate played her hand. He had never expected to find friends in the ashes of tragedy, but now, he had them. Good men, who risked their own well-being for the sake of others. They were the kind of people one wanted to have as friends and allies.


End file.
